


Fire

by Dormouse_III



Category: Original Work
Genre: Arson, Fire, Hypothermia, Impulsive Destruction, Mental Breakdown, No Sense of Time, Overstimulation, Paranoia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 09:08:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21425719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dormouse_III/pseuds/Dormouse_III
Summary: “It might, too, have been the singular cold that alienated me; for such chilliness was abnormal on so hot a day, and the abnormal always excites aversion, distrust, and fear.”
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Fire

I am set a blaze, to burn, on fire. Or so it feels like it? One would imagine a lukewarm drink to be ice on the tongue after a year in hell. That would be the case if your tongue was still intact of course. The testaments speak of demons who tear the tongues form the lips of children who know not of the father… HARK! Harken to my tale, young parrot and recite my sermon unto the world as a youth enamored by the mere pronunciation of the sophisticate’s term for the beads of sweat that a cool glass fails to wipe away. Rest and crumple like a dying arachnid if you must but not too closely lest you may irritate me. Where the hell was I?

  
FIRE! Yes of course I am on fire! Blazes, flames, pain unimaginable like that of The Pit itself! Or as I stated before, so it feels. For you see, I have read. Many a things; tales of hookah bearing centipedes and oh so ill-lucid dormice. YET- I believe I have read this literature the most! It’s this interesting book called “Central Air” and it’s the story of how the goddamned numbers have never changed! Believe! And believe! And do so on and on that I have tried to set it straight! I called my landlord and the “CA” corporation but neither will pick up.

  
I am an honest man when I say I smirked and chuckled- nay, Chortled and Shrieked at its bile green face when it read “69” when I first awoke. But weeks have passed and so have those digits. “53” it now reads like a mocking clock with each double hours and half quarter and 43 seconds. A mocking count down than never ends. As I have stated, it feels as if I am burning to a crisp as a Wiccan at a puritan cookout. All my nerve endings are a painful mix of null and intense. They flare at the touch of the rest of my apartment which also burns with the same invisible fire as my flesh only brighter. 

  
My domicile appears like any other, a small living space fitted with my work desk that is morphed with the ever so pale yet pastel kitchen leading off into a pantry, a wardrobe, a washroom, and a small bedroom. The buzzing yellow lights hum a warm song and invite you in and you ignore the cool breeze assuming it to be the ghost of the draft dying out from the door. Your numb fingers grip the arms of the chair and sensation returns to them again. You prepare to sink into the warm wood that the florescent choir has sung praise after praise to you about when…

  
DEATH! ICE, DEATH, AND BEYOND COMPREHENSIBLE PAIN! Pins and needles stab you like spears and harpoons as you are forced to ridge still and hoist yourself from cursed decor! Lies! LIES! LIES! LIES! DECEIT! HOOKS, LINES, AND FURTHERMORE SINKERS! A fool you were to trust the siren song of the piss yellow bulbs above you that now mock you in a collective synth tone of monotone buzz. Now do you trust it to hold your frame as it did before? Did you even trust it then?

  
Not I. 

  
That is a quality of mine that made it so easy to cast judgement, verdict, and execution onto the bastard of ass-hostelry! I water boarded the wooden slut! Drowned it in my only bottle of vegetable oil like a freshly flayed pig and by god I roasted it like one! I could hear it choking to death, suffocating on the black claw of smoke with its legs flailing for help from its brother who I have sat in front of the other to watch. TO LIVE IS TO LEARN! CROSS ME NOT I SAY! NAY- I DEMAND YOU!

  
Even then with the cylindrical disk in the ceiling cheering me on as I played the role of Maximilian, executing member after member of the round table without trial, the numbers continued to sink! Damned be them all and their mothers as well! “Kill them all!” I yelled. Or perhaps I screeched something more like “Pile on then, sinners!” Regardless they cursed my apartment with a foggy stained atmosphere that clung to the ceiling with the scent of the City of Angels. In fact, if Peter were available, I’d toss him in too! Who is he to cast judgment? Did he cast out his brothers as well, and children of the age to be accountable but were ignorant to his name? Heathen! 

  
The smog was surrounding me in a hellish glow but I was still being stung by a thousand fire pixies that had some sort of other worldly invisible illusion! I grew suddenly fearful of my own execution as I remember the whore who had the audacity to call forth pastries when there were barely any scraps. It took a time that I cannot tell for the hands of it were obscured by black clouds of my own wrath but I managed to kill my child. To smother it in a glossy and poisonous foam that left its eyes as dying embers and its meal as an undigested black mess. Now I had a new foe; the air.

  
I escaped into my washroom for it has the perfect door for the perfect tomb. You see, its frame is too thick and it scrapes the carpet as it closes. The smog will starve out and I will emerge as a titian does from his mother. As I pass the green face I see the numbers to have dropped further and I panic to lock the door as if it would save me. I was of course correct, it does make quite the tomb… for a snowman. Everything save for the rug is laced with the heat of the ghost fire. It’s tiled and porcelain appearance confirm it to be white-hot. Regardless of my own trappings I fiddle with the faucets risking no more than a finger to its iced kiss.

  
Things above! Is this- is it possible for- even the water is colder than knobs themselves! I hold my finger under the red turned spout for what I counted to about 15 minutes. We can agree that I may have been overzealous in using all of my gas line to burn my furniture rather than heat my water, yes? It may take hours if not days to heat back up. I sit on the edge of the curtain using the rug as a cape to protect myself from the flames. I must be on fire now truly and my insides must have caught fire, my each and every breath is a soft smoke. No, more of a steam. Perhaps my blood is only boiling? If not my insides then surely my lungs are. And my nostrils shake and send me into dry heaves and sneezing fits with the smell of something burning. I know what you are thinking and I know it too but I swear of it this is no wooded ash. It smells less like the woodwork and more akin to that of a cremated corpse.

Then a dangerous thought slithered into my aching and hollow skull; what if the embers didn't die? What if, very soon the flames will come tapping at my door. What if I've entombed my self for my own cremation? What if the fires had a vengeance? I would hope not! To die to the frost is enough as it is but to be cooked in the oven of my own making would be terrible. To be melted and roasted into the tile and tub side... Why, not even the flames of hell could tear my flesh from the floor with its blinding white claws! I would rather die! I WOULD SOONER TAKE MY RAZOR AND...

  
I live on and make my mark regardless, that is why you read this. These scrawling on the cardboard of an unfolded tissue box. Remember this tale, stranger down below, as I’m certain you’ve found it or have witnessed it fall from my bathroom window. Spread knowledge as a preacher and let them know that I‘m still kicking as I was in the womb. I cannot fit through the pane of ice that seems to feed its stabbing breath into the room, all the more reason to send for someone and warn them of the epidemic that is coming. That of the fire that still burns me to the core and has me drawing uneven and unclear breaths that are thankful unerasable.

  
Or so I hope.


End file.
